


A Place To Rest

by michellejco



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Crying, Crying Dean, Crying Sam, Death, Grave, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Sad, Season Finale, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Spoilers, burial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 12:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michellejco/pseuds/michellejco
Summary: Supernatural s12 finale spoilers. Character death. Angsty af. Relationship stated, but no relationship really in the work. Implied.





	A Place To Rest

It was cold when it shouldn’t have been. Just on the drive in, they had the windows down, cool summer breeze wafting in from the outdoors. Mary commented on the particular smell of the body of water when they neared the house. 

Sam shivered, and a hand shot to his arm and squeezed it. Stop the tremors. It wasn’t even breezy. 

It had taken them a solid hour to decide what should be done about the body. They’d talked through numerous scenarios. They’d all come back from the dead in the past, so why not him? He was the perfect candidate. But the deliberation ended with Dean’s solemn whimper and a nod of great sadness. Heavy. That was the feeling. 

And so, digging in silence, 6 feet of dirt was shoveled out of the ground, right at the water’s edge. Stars lit up the sky. Funny. Yes, funny. The world chose to be so beautiful and peaceful on a night of so much turmoil. Loss. 

Sam stood in the ground for an extra few seconds, chest heaving from the effort it took to dig all that up. Sam took his brother’s arm as an anchor to lift him out of the hole. The strong grip. Dean was always that grip in shitty times. When dad would leave them alone for weeks, Dean let himself starve and go nearly insane from sleep deprivation for Sam. When their friends died. Every goddamn one of them. Dean let his emotions known. But he’d be rock steady. For Sam. And now when they each needed each other perhaps more than ever. Dean was there to offer a hand. 

“You don’t want to burn–”

“No.”

Taking a sheet from inside the house, the Winchesters secured the bedding around the body. Sam folded the sheet near his head, cradling it ever so gently, even picking out a stick from the dark, tangly mess. They’d covered him in the past. Sam had. He’d stumbled into the motel, drunk as a sailor. Sam grabbed the man to steady him and patted his chest, leading him to one of two beds in the grimy room. First draping a loose blanket in the closet over his shoulders, Sam then fetched a bucket for the drunk to puke into. Which he did. 

A small smile was brought to Sam’s face in memory, not seeing the body right in front of his face but instead playing the scene from that one day back. He tried to remember that as clear as it had happened, not wanting to forget a detail. He gave him a cold washcloth for his forehead. He tucked him in the scratchy motel sheets, himself choosing to sleep on the floor, saving the empty bed for Dean. 

These sheets weren’t nearly as scratchy. Sam’s fingers fondled with the material he was supposed to be wrapping the body in. And they didn’t smell like discount detergent. He covered the body’s face entirely and stood up. 

With the carefulness of trained pallbearers, the brothers hoisted the body and laid it with care into the makeshift grave. Fitting. But not enough for Sam. 

He’d spent a lot of time picturing different ways to go out for each of them. For Dean, he saw a countrywide drive to the perfect spot in Colorado, all within Baby’s confines. And he’d be buried in soft dirt with a pocket knife and loose bullet shell from what would eventually be their best hunt. Obviously dawned in Dean’s favorite red plaid. For himself, it was a simple burial in the cemetery Jess was buried. Maybe not next to her or with her, but in the vicinity. He’d want Dean to say something sappy and dumb about a memory they shared and chuckle about it. For Castiel…

Bright. It would be the brightest spot, daylight. Mountainside with a long stretch of water. Maybe on an island in the middle of a grand lake. Clouds just ghosting the tips of the mountains. And a neatly dug grave, surrounded by stones of all medium sizes and shapes. He and Dean would paint feathers and halos and ties and trenchcoats on the rocks, chuckling at their horrible artwork. Dean would etch ‘Cas’ into a headstone with his blade. And Sam swore that patch of ground never would catch a drop of rain or a cloudy day for as long as that spot remained on this finite earth. But flowers would bloom all around the space anyway, keeping lush grass and a single weeping willow tree. 

A quick drip onto his head and Sam looked up. A raindrop. So it had started to drizzle, making the dirt he and Dean had been shoveling back into the pit all the more dense. Packed tightly, tossing the shovels aside, they stood back. 

No embellishment. Sam’s eyes darted around the patch of dirt, knowing Dean was pressing a hand to his mouth as tears fought their way to his eyes and slipped down his freckled cheeks. Sam stood still, swaying slightly as if he were a tree, moving with the gentlest of breezes. Right. No breeze. It was all nerves. 

Dean cursed under his breath, sniffled, and then walked slowly back to the Impala. Sam stayed. 

Dean and Castiel. It was always Dean Winchester and Castiel. They were the friends. They had the special bond, they were the names recognized. It was never Sam Winchester. He knew he could never match up to the friendship Dean and Cas shared. But god dammit he felt close to him. Closer than he figured either him or the angel knew. He hugged him, he defended him. He shook his hand in awe and respect upon meeting for the first time. He thought of him, but hardly prayed to him like Dean. Why? Why didn’t he call to him more often? He should have. He showed him compassion and didn’t mock him for getting things wrong. He’d smile and laugh with him when he’d say something genuinely funny. Castiel would give his life a hundred times over for either himself or Dean. A flash through an amber rip in time, a shared smile of relief, and it was all gone through the piercing of a silver blade. 

_No._

He didn’t speak it. His mouth formed the word, his body screamed it. Bring him back. Don’t let this happen. Not to him. 

A hot tear trickled its way down Sam’s cheek. He’d come back. He had to. They’d buried him just for those exact reasons, not burned his body. He needed a vessel upon his return, after all. 

I’m sorry. That’s all he wanted to say. He wanted to look him in his blue eyes one more time if only to tell him that he was sorry he couldn’t save him. He was the one who pushed Dean as fast as he could out of the dimension. He left him for dead. So when he made his way out, it was all on his own. Sam didn’t help him any and he should be sent to hell just for that reason. I’m so sorry. He didn’t deserve it. Never should have let his guard down. More tears. 

Sam’s fist trembled as he stood, head hanging, crying. The rain started to get heavier and soon started to mingle with his tears. The harsh cold of the rain slipped down his strands of long hair. He bent down and turned up a smooth stone. Smoother than anything he’d ever think to find in an area like this. And he placed it right on top of the freshly dug mound of dirt. See you soon, buddy.


End file.
